


Wait-a-Second Lifetime

by scorpiris



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Reality, Humor, Interdimensional Travel, M/M, crackfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:25:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiris/pseuds/scorpiris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>down the rabbit hole, or in this case: up the elevator</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

If there was a dimensional portal somewhere between the five floors separating his office and penthouse, well... nobody ever bothered to tell him.

He didn't quite realize it at first. The penthouse foyer didn't look too different, same marble veining, same suite of furniture, even the same antique glass catch-all. He hadn't been sure about the lighting, it seemed brighter than usual.

He knew something wasn't quite right when Martha appeared from the wings carrying a jug of a design that he would never voluntarily allow inside his penthouse. She was followed by his cook, who was carrying a tray filled with food-looking things. They were both chatting quietly but urgently amongst themselves, never once noticing the owner of the place standing dumbstruck just off their track. Their voices were a counterpoint to raised noises down the hallway, one of which he was sure belonged to the redoubtable Jonathan Kent. Unable to decide whether he's more annoyed at them not noticing him, or that people no longer welcome were having a free-run of his penthouse, he followed them into the den.

Lex felt a headache blooming behind his eyeballs. He was not used to this much noise this late at night. Not used to this many people in one of his last sanctuaries on God's green earth. Definitely not used to having the Kents prowling around his domain like it was Vintage Smallville all over again.

The screaming match grew exponentially louder as he stepped clear into the room. It was Jonathan Kent, alright. Lex recognized the platitudes even if he didn't get to see the person. But Jonathan Kent in bikers' leather? He knew that the man secretly owned not one but two sweet choppers, but this getup was not anything Lex was accustomed to seeing, all bright polished chrome buckles in a row and supple black leather.

Lex decided that he must be on drugs, and this was one hell of a bad trip.

Across Jonathan was a sneering woman in an extremely-expensively-one-of-a-kindly-made tailored pant suit, cream with blood red trimming. She might have been a handsome woman when she was younger, but deep wrinkles on her face gave her a harsh look instead. Old but apparently not above exhibitionism, Lex noted, as he surveyed the results of good genetics and even more expensive doctors under her blindingly white linen shirt opened to the navel. The way that riot of messy dark brown hair tumbled onto slim but strong shoulders gave Lex a bad case of deja vu.

The cook had left for her kitchen sanctuary, apparently still not noticing Lex. Martha was equally oblivious of Lex, concentrating her efforts on getting between the two combatants who were studiously ignoring her. The whole Luthor-this and Kent-that was also giving him a worse kind of foreboding. Everyone in the room was ignoring him. Lex wondered whether he's already dead and he was just watching everything from the other side of the veil.

"My son wasn't even gone two days and you're all traipsing around his penthouse like you own the place!" the lady was exclaiming. Son? Was Lex in the wrong penthouse? Lex might not have seen his mother for many years, but he was quite sure he could remember what Lilian Luthor looked like--nothing like this screaming banshee in front of him, to be sure.

"You wish!" Jonathan spat back. "Don't you put words in my mouth, Luthor!"

So, not exactly in the wrong venue. But which Luthor could this woman be? Was there even any more elderly Luthors left on the whole solar system?

They were yelling and Martha was trapped in the middle, her once-neat bun falling apart in front of Lex's eyes. It was fascinating. He noticed a vase lying broken in a corner, so far the only casualty. It won't be the only one for long, Lex thought, as he observed the currently unnamed but ultimately familiar Luthor-woman edging towards Lex's heavy crystal ashtray. It was a present from someone he didn't even like, so Lex really wouldn't mourn its imminent destruction, but it might also claim other collateral--like maybe his Lalique or his Miro. Think quick, Lex.

Lex stepped closer, opened his mouth and immediately jumped back two paces as the far door opened with a resolute bang, from where exited a person he never thought he would see in his penthouse half-naked. Ever. Clad in a rather damp pair of sweatpants was Clark Kent, furious-bright eyes and annoyed-red spots on his high cheekbones. "I turned my back for one second.... Lex?"

Suddenly all eyes were aimed at him.

"Lex!" Clark bounded towards him as though they hadn't been enemies for the past how-many years. Any rejoinder he might offer was swallowed by an enthusiastic hug. "You're back early! Thank God!" Another squeeze, then Clark let him out of the hug, putting him about an arm's length. Smiles and enthusiasm was quickly replaced by a frown of concern. "You're back early." Clark said again, hands still wrapped around Lex's biceps, toasty warm and homesick-inducing. "Was everything okay?"

"Wha?"

"The Barbados deal. Was it okay?" Clark was visibly concerned now, maneuvering Lex gently towards the oversized armchair by the bay window. "You weren't supposed to be back until next week."

"Wait.. what Barbados deal?" Lex accepted a glass of scotch without thinking, then lifted an inquiring eyebrow at Martha who smiled sheepishly at him, hand still outstretched. Far be it for the mother figure to encourage inebriation, but Lex had a feeling that she knew this wasn't a situation Lex could handle without several fortifying drinks.

Old Lady Luthor surged towards him. "What do you mean 'what Barbados deal'? Don't tell me you've lost it. I knew the Kent boy was bad news for you! Ever since he moved in here, you've been all kinds of distracted." The woman sighed loudly and made a move towards the scotch decanter, pouring a generous amount for herself. "Look, ever since you swept LuthorCorp from under me, I promised not interfere with your affairs. But this time, I can't just sit quietly aside and watch you burn your legacy to the ground." She downed all the scotch in one go and shot a vicious look at Clark, who would've keeled over if he was anything but impervious. A determined look on that face told everyone she's not exactly finished with her lecture, and no one seemed inclined to either cut her off or clue Lex in. So they collectively braced themselves as she poured another serving. "Despite what everyone may think, and rightly so sometimes, I've always had your best interests at heart, son."

All of them sounded like white noise to Lex, overwhelmed and fully convinced that he was drugged. Her last word cut through all static. "Son?" he croaked. "Wait. Who are you?" Lex struggled to his feet, Clark moved a hand under him to hold him steady.

Anxious hazel-green eyes peered at him, worry etched on darkened brows. "Lex, are you feeling okay? Did you meet any mutants on your way here? Lex?"

Lex ignored Clark's frantic questions and Martha's calls for Toby to be brought in. He decided to ignore Jonathan who was fussing with afghan throws and cushions on the couch. He bore down towards the largest unknown factor in the room, who was looking equally concerned and saying something like "Oh my god, he's finally lost his mind," and Clark probably did say "And whose fault was that?" at the woman.

Lex stopped across of her, shrugged off Clark's helping hand. He can stand well on his own thank you very much. "Who are you?" he asked again, voice steady, eyes straight and unwavering.

"Lex," the woman began. "Son. I think you need to lay down a while."

"Who are you?" Lex bit out more forcefully, beginning to feel like he's part ghost, part broken gramophone.

"Your mother, of course." The woman answered with a familiar lilt, then a defiant flip of dark brown mane. "Leona Luthor."

For all his superpowers and enhanced anticipation, Clark couldn't quite grab Lex quick enough as he fainted clear away.

 

* * *

 

Lex came back to the world a few minutes later, or it could've been a few days later, and was greeted by another round of noise. Just noise on top of voices on top of noise. An impenetrable Great Wall of Noise that rose in front of him and stabbed him in the eye, it seemed. Keeping his eyes closed, he quickly ticked off names to correspond with the voice and came up with one short. There's a new voice. Male, Midwestern accent with a little French lisp to it.

"Zis is preposterous! I demand to be returned back to my lab! Immeziately!" the currently unknown voice rose above the cacophony. "I have a delicate experiment that needs my utmost care!"

"But Lex needs you!" Clark sounded really desperate. Lex needs who? Lex wanted to ask, but he felt faint again, his mouth felt like cotton had been stuffed down his throat.

"No, he doesn't!" Old Lady Luthor--because Lex refused to call her any other--exclaimed. "What he needs is a competent doctor!"

"Hey!" Toby sounded affronted, yet half-heartedly so. "I'll have you know..."

"Guys, please!" Clark pleaded. A shuffling of feet reminiscent of bisons stampeding across a prairie of expensive carpeting, yelps of indignation, firm click of the door, muffled angry words beyond closed doors. The throbbing behind his eyeballs quickened, like sharp and precise stabs with a foil.

"As I was saying, Lex needs you." Clark's voice had a desperate quality to it, made Lex wonder whether he was terminally ill. Maybe Lex had a tumor in his brain. Certainly would explain his prolonged hallucination.

There was a huff and a puff. "Alexander always needs me, ze zilly boy. Eez go wizout saying." There was an unmistakable fondness in the undercurrents of that exclamation, it made Lex think that his hearing was playing tricks on him. "What az ee done zis time?"

Warm touches on his brow. "Alexander?" low and smooth, warm breath against his cheek, like cherries. "Can you open your eyes for me?"

Lex shook his head lightly, frankly worried about what he would see.

"'eadache?" The questions came, soft interrogations punctuated by several clicks. His bedside lamp, the last. "Now, will you try, Alexander?"

"Go 'way," Lex mumbled instead, trying to twist away from the hand.

"What 'appened?" Slow and soothing, a rhythm against his brow. It was a frighteningly familiar gesture too, something that came with a lullaby if his treacherous mind remembered correctly. But the hands were wrong, the size of it, the pressure of it.

"We don't know. Yet. He forgot things, he was panicky, delirious, he... um..." Clark floundered in a way that made Lex think about farmboys and bright red trucks. "felt... um.. wrong? Somehow."

"eez certainly not acting like ze Alexander we know," the man remarked morosely. "I will want to run my own tests, you realize?"

"Sure." Clark volunteered. "He was calling for you, you know? That's why I had to go grab you. Sorry about your experiment. But I don't think Lex can wait."

"Ah, well. Eez fine. Eez nothing that can't be restarted again." A thoughtful pause. "Alexander eez more important."

Four little words. Stabbing right through Lex's chest, it constricted painfully. A simple declaration, soft and full of conviction. Nobody ever thought that about him, not since...

Lex opened his eyes and saw an outline of a man. The room was dark except the soft glow of his bedside lamp.

"Ah Alexander," the man greeted. "'ow are you feeling?" Concerned green eyes coming into view, a tumble of red hair across his brow. "What 'az you gotten yourself into this time?" Cool glass pressed onto his hand, "'ere. Drink some water, it'll be better."

Lex drank slowly, studying the man in front of him carefully from above the rim of his glass.

"Now, Clark told me you're confused. What 'appened? Problems at your lab? Some mutant?" A small hesitation. "Drugs?"

What?! "No, Mama~" Lex was aiming for affronted and landed in a whine instead. Then he froze, realizing what he just said.

Everyone else in the room froze also.

"Leona did this?" the man sounded positively glacial.

Lex shook his head, perhaps too slowly.

"Are you sure?" the man didn't sound convinced. Clark--off to one side, but close enough for Lex to feel his body heat--didn't look too convinced either. Like they wouldn't put it past Old Woman Luthor to harm Lex. He would've basked in their concern if it wasn't so confusing.

"I... I don't know."

"You want me to call her in?" Clark asked, more to the man than to Lex.

The man looked thoughtful, "Do you want to talk to your mother?"

It took Lex a while to realize that the man was asking him. "Mother?"

"Yes, do you want to talk to her?"

Clark was already walking towards the door. "I'll go find Leona," he announced.

"Leona? My mother? But..." Lex struggled to find the words, two pairs of concerned eyes watched him find them. "What about... Lilian?"

"Yes?" the man asked.

"Lilian..."

"Yes?"

"Lilian, you know..."

"I know," the man answered.

"You do?"

"Why wouldn't I know my own name?" the man looked amused.

"I told you he's confused," Clark said, visibly trying to be calm and not going into hysterics. It sounded as though he was trying to resign himself to Lex going round the bend.

"Lilian Luthor?"

The man smiled fondly at him. "Technically, it's Lilian Leclerc-Luthor. Although I did de-aypenate my name after ze divorce."

"You're my mo... what? father?"

The man only smiled, fondly, as though indulging Lex's fancies. "Go to sleep. We'll figure this out."

Lex nodded numbly, at least there's no cliched Star Wars references. He was being tucked into bed, by both Clark and Lilian-not-his-mother. He was so far out of it, hopefully he still could wake up sane.

"'Lex, je suis ton père'," Clark sing-songed, Lex groaned. "Sorry Lex," Clark said sheepishly. A smack. "Sorry Lilian," he sound properly chastised. "I can't help it." He dropped a kiss on Lex's brow, sending Lex deeper into a rabbit hole he now wasn't sure he could get out of. "Rest well, Lex." Wasn't sure Lex wanted to get out of it.

The door closed. More noises from beyond it. A lot of shushing. More shuffling. Then, surprisingly, comfortable quietness. There's still a lot of things Lex had to figure out. It couldn't be too long ago when he was riding up the elevator fully expecting to return to an empty penthouse, a half-life, and Superman as enemy, could it? If this was a parallel world, Lex wondered whether waking up back in his reality would be worth it. Would it be so bad if he could just dream and keep Clark close like this forever?

Plus, he thought as he turned to nestle on his side, it didn't seem so bad to have a Lilian in his life again.

 

******


	2. Chapter 2

Lex awoke to the quiet, the comfortable and the familiar. He was still in his dress shirt, but someone had stripped his bottom half down to his boxers. He was wearing his sleeping socks.

It took the same number of steps for him to get to his curtained window, the same span of hand to throw it open, and he was heartened to find the same skyline greeting him. He exchanged socks for his slippers and found the same robe waiting in its usual place.

He walked out to find the place devoid of people and noise, as always. He walked into his kitchen and saw Mercy having breakfast on the kitchen island, guns in pieces and cleaning apparatuses all over the place. Also as always. She seemed oblivious to his coming and going. She might actually be ignoring him, but that's not unusual, so he went to the sideboard for coffee instead.

When he found his usual mug sitting next to the coffee machine, he was ready to chalk last night to a bizarre nightmare. Possibly induced by some bad shellfish he thought he ate for lunch.

He used to be afraid of being a creature of habit; it only gave more ammunition for stalkers and psychos alike. But at the moment, routine helped him put back his life to rights.

His morning papers were where he would usually find them, next to his coffee. He never took any solids over his morning reading, but he welcomed the plate of croissants that sat on the newspaper stack all the same.

Mercy's sharp eyes tracked him all the way up to where the kitchen branched out to the den, Lex could feel her gaze boring into his back. He usually felt odd, but he had never called her out for it. She had saved his life many times because of it. The den was also quiet, and he rounded the back of the couch to get to his coffee table, eyes darting around to locate the TV's remote control. The Senate's new bill must've garnered a lot of interesting noise by now.

He knew he left it on the couch the last time, and he was fairly sure no one had moved it yet. But whether it was there where he left it, he would never find out, because he was too busy staring at Clark and Hope curled around each other like two puppies in a basket, deeply asleep.

* * *

 

No great crash happened, no coffee spilled all over Aubussons, no flying papers, not even a sound as Mercy intercepted everything and laid porcelain and pastries on the coffee table. "Let them sleep in," Mercy said in what was actually more of a stage whisper. "Kent just got back, and Hope was upset."

Lex looked at Mercy incredulously, eyeing her as though she's grown a second head. Mercy sighed as she sat on the floor alongside Hope's side of the couch. "I really thought you've grown out of this Houdini act of yours," she remarked, as she reached around Hope's curled body to unclip a gun from her waist. "I still can't figure out know why I let you convince me otherwise." She began to methodically dismantle the small weapon, eyes never leaving Lex. "You should've told us you're leaving Barbados early, instead of scarpering off like you're still a fugitive."

Was he being told off? Wasn't he the boss here? Shouldn't his employees be less forward than this? So either he was still having a nightmare, or he was still stuck in a different dimension where Lex Luthor was apparently a pushover.

Thankfully, it seemed, a pushover with a lot of toys and money. If Lex were ever to figure out a way home, he would need access to LexCorp mainframes. So far, there were many similarities between here and his own reality, thus he was fairly certain that the Lex Luthor of this timeline might have toyed with the idea of time travel, or interdimensional travel.

Although, Lex wasn't prepared to believe that it was this reality that triggered the mess he's currently in. He simply refused to believe it. Perhaps, his own project malfunctioned in a good way, and prompted this shift. Perhaps a frequency here managed to connect with the frequency back in his own labs. Either way, it had been a while since Lex was this keyed up with the research possibilities.

"She has ten more minutes," Lex declared, in what he hoped would be terse enough. "We have a lot of work to do today."

Mercy didn't reply, for all the world looking engrossed at her task cleaning Hope's handgun.

Lex had to make an effort not to repeat himself. He wasn't a parrot, goddamnit. He was used to his whims being carried out even without him asking. What's wrong with this place?

* * *

 

The shower here had better pressure than his usual one. A good morning shower was really hard to come by these days and it was almost enough incentive for him not to think about going back.

Emerging happy and toasty out of the shower, he found Clark not only awake but puttering around the room, changing the sheets on his bed. Was Clark his domestic helper?

"You're going in to work today," Clark said, not a question but a statement of fact. Lex kept quiet, more interested in Clark lifting his 200-lbs mattress like it was a flannel sleeping bag. "I think you should stay home," Clark continued, clearly not expecting Lex to reply. "Let Mercy and Hope sleep off their jet-lag or something." Perfect hospital corners, then the rest of Lex's bedding. "Not that they'll be sleeping anytime soon, not after that stunt you pulled." Finally, a quilt joined everything else on the bed. Lex had never seen the quilt before, and he didn't really care to know the answer if he asked.

"I don't have to explain myself to you," Lex said, hunting for his watch. He was surprised to see a familiar box sitting on a familiar dresser. He stared at it, like it had eyes and legs and would run away with the dish and the spoon. He snorted at the silliness of his own thought, looked down and saw a big hand flipping the box's lid open.

"I know," Clark's breath against his cheek, Clark's voice in his ears and his body warm against Lex's back. This was an entirely alien experience that Lex just stood there like he had grown roots. His watch was there--but whether it was his watch or just the same watch from this dimension, he didn't know. He wondered what things he kept when he shifted; he wondered what sanity he had left.

"We know that," Clark repeated, retrieving the watch from inside box with one hand and cradling Lex's wrist with his other hand. Warm fingers turned Lex's hand this way and that way, slowly, carefully. The watch's cool back against his skin a counterpoint to the fever left behind by Clark's little touches. A final tap on the watch's face and Clark released him. "But I still worry."

Lex closed his eyes for a moment, released breath he didn't know he was holding. When he turned around again, Clark was already walking out from with a handful of old bed sheets. "If you're still going to work..." an afterthought, Clark fidgeting by the door.”Stop by the Lab?"

"What for?" Lex asked, intrigued that this Clark didn't seem agitated by the fact that Lex came complete with labs.

"Lilian needs help setting up. He's going to restart his experiments and who better to help him but you?" Clark smiled. "When's the last time the both of you played Evil Genius together?" When’s the last time Lex was the recipient of Clark's solar-rivaling smile? He had forgotten that Clark could be like this, had forgotten many things that most of them were beginning to feel like myth than reality.

Mercy and Hope passed outside of the door behind Clark. Hope had a piece of croissant between her teeth and a few big boxes in her hands, Mercy with something he couldn't see clearly, blocked by Clark's big frame.

Lex thought about LexCorp mainframes and time travel. He thought about his own projects and wondered whether the same projects were being run here. He still had to find out what’s this Barbados claptrap everyone’s been harping on about.

He looked down at his prosthetic hand and wondered whether the Lex here lost his the same way he had. He wondered where the Lex of this reality was. He looked out to a city so familiar it was actually something very different. He remembered now that he hadn't had his coffee, hadn't read his papers. He wondered whether Hope had eaten all his croissants.

Lex had a million questions, but he realized that answers could wait.


	3. Chapter 3

His croissants were where he saw them last, on the den's table where Mercy had rescued it. Hope's Glock was on the table next to Lex's untouched newspapers, and Lex ignored it in favor of his coffee. Clark appeared out of nowhere and offered him a glass box filled with pastry things, told him to bring it with him to the lab and share it with Lilian. When Lex did not take it, Clark placed it on the table. He retrieved Hope's gun and nudged the box to where the gun was with a flick of a wrist.

Clark went away like he came. Silently.

 

****

Lex opened the box's glass lid and managed to fit one crescent-shaped pastry in a corner, next to a square chocolatine and half-propped against a triangular apple turnover. Mercy came in next, with a coat hanger that bore his suit on it. She hung it on the doorknob and made noises about not being Lex's butler.

Hope came in with his labcoat and hung it over his suitcoat. She left the same way Mercy did, grumbling about not being paid enough.

Lex wasn't sure why he was surprised to see Clark striding in with a pair of Lex-sized shoes, dangling from his forefinger and middle finger.

Suddenly he was suited and shod, cradling a glass box filled with food in one hand, and a labcoat draped on the other arm, waiting for the elevator.

 

****

Mercy and Hope took each side of him, and Clark jabbed at the button impatiently. The door slid open and Lex saw familiar wood-paneling. The last time he rode up in an elevator he emerged in another whatever-you-call-it. Lex wondered numbly whether a ride down would take him back to his own reality. Everyone moved forward and they stepped deeper to the back of the elevator. Except Clark who stepped back after telling him to say hi to Lilian and pecking him on each cheek.

The door closed with a soft sigh and opened with a groan.

* * *

Lilian was sat on one of the padded benches outside of a door telling people that it was not for general admittance. The man, Lex thought, was slender and tall enough, but his hunched shoulders made him look as though he had a small beer belly. Last night he thought the man's hair was brownish. But under harsh white light, it was as red as his once was, even more so in contrast to pale white indoor skin. His receding hairline was amplified by his sharp frowning, the slope of his nose made an odd angle when taken in with his grimacing mouth—thin mouth like Lex's.

Footsteps had alerted Lilian of newcomers, and Lex saw the man bracing himself for something before relaxing slightly at the sight of him. "You changed ze password to ze locks," Lilian said by way of greeting. There's a hint of accusation wrapped in a conversational voice, mild attack squirreled beneath an observation. He remembered hearing a similar tone from Lionel, when the old man had to get used to the mansion's layout without sight.

Lex wasn't so sure he wanted a confrontation this early in the morning, and his dazed stupor was a comfortable cloak around him today. So he held out the glass pastry box and offered an "I really didn't, did I?"

Pastries were accepted happily enough, Lilian almost tearing at the lid making the rubber stopper around it squeak a little. Mercy stepped forward and said that they did change the password but it was only because of a crazed ex-employee, and nothing against Lilian.

Mercy shot a look at Lex that implied some raised salary for covering his ass yet again—a familiar look he'd seen on the face of his own Mercy—and Lex was determined to renew his efforts to get back to his own equilibrium.

"Security should have let you in anyway," Lex added, hoping that he sounded irritated enough. "They know better than to leave you stranded."

Lilian looked up at him from his chocolatine, and his frown softened. Lex's stomach did that flip-flop thing as intelligent blue-gray eyes looked at him with an indulgence. "It doesn't mazer, I'm in one of my moods."

He chose to sat down next to Lilian, who offered him his croissant back. They watched Mercy punch some numbers into two sets of keypads recessed into a near wall. Hope was braced againt a wall, writing something on a notepad. The paper was handed over to Lilian as though a peace offering and Lex saw a complicated set of numbers that he would do well to remember. He knew that Clark was already suspicious about his 'uncharacteristic attitude'. Being locked out of his "own" labs would make things unnecessarily complicated.

"Tell me again," Lex said, as he leaned against the wall, watching Mercy and Hope carting Lilian's boxes and trolleys into the lab with the help of some white-clad people who emerged from inside. "What's the research on?"

Lilian just stood up and smiled at him, like a parent indulging a belligerent child, which in a way they were. Mercy came back from the lab and told him that they've put everything in his usual space. An elderly scientist—with papery olive skin—exited and went straight to Lilian, apologizing profusely for making Dr. Leclerc wait in hallways like a commoner. The old man threw worried glances at Lex, and apologized to Mr. Luthor-please-don't-fire-me also.

There wasn't time to acknowledge the stream of apologies, as they were swallowed by interesting results and newest-batch-coming-out-nicelies. Lex walked a few paces behind them, pretending he didn't hear Hope counterpointed scientific discussions with "Lex has been acting weird all morning", how she hoped that Lilian would have time to help them "figure out what's wrong".

 

* * *

 

Going by the ceiling, Lex figured out that the lab was actually quite large. Yet, it was dwarfed by the sheer amount of boxes and stuff that Lilian had brought with him. Things were set up efficiently enough, however, as though Lex's people had done this before. A bespectacled, bepimpled young man as tall as a beanpole stood by Lilian's side talking animatedly about something. Lilian nodded here and there, half his attention was over supervising the unboxing of his many possessions.

Mercy and Hope had left a few minutes ago, told Lex that they're going to be upstairs dealing with their _proper_ job as Heads of Security, and handed him over to the Geek Squad. One of those white-suited men—a person that looked like he could break someone's arm and shoot someone in the face while reciting the periodic table sideways and backwards—repeated obediently after Mercy's recitation of several key dos and don'ts.

He looked over everyone's shoulders, noting documents and equipments being arranged on all available workspaces. He noted with much interest the Labglass by LexCorp beakers and flasks, wondering why he never thought to set one up himself. Considering the rate of destruction he had to endure on a weekly basis… clearly an oversight to rectify once he returned to his proper timeline. He caught snippets of "indigenous to Smallville" comments from Lilian and "pyrolysis results of meteorite crushings" from various Lex-paid scientists. He wondered what kind of things could possibly be indigenous to Smallville, but he figured out that many things would have been mutated beyond common species recognition like Smallville's many menace. He now wondered whether lifeforms actually came embedded in those meteorites.

So, they're researching Smallville and meteorites under Clark's nose, and he's... okay with it? Lex thought back bitterly at his own Superman Problems™, which inadvertently circled back to his meteorite research. Nevermind his arguments, forget his good intentions. It's like Superman had a kneejerk reaction to the words Meteorite and Smallville. It was like waving a red cape at a raging bull—someone was bound to get hurt.

Looking around, Lex began noticing that everything was leadlined—thick-gauged drywalls, lead-glass windows and partitions, various sizes of radioisotope cabinets and storage boxes in LexCorp colors. Remembering the inordinate amount of sterile checkpoints between the elevator banks and this room, Lex wondered whether the lab wasn't designed so much as to keep an alien menace out but to keep the alien safe.

What's different here, then? The itch to know was a slow burn under his skin.

But even if Clark was as important to this-reality's Lex as he appeared to be, Lex wondered whether this level of safety was not overkill.

 

* * *

 

Working next to Lilian like this, surrounded by stainless steel workspaces and marble slabs, reminded Lex of a long-buried memory. In that memory, he was a small red-headed child kneading dough, and the air smelled like gingerbread men. Looking across the room at Lilian, he wondered whether this Lilian had ever been in a kitchen with children.

The hiss of sliding doors opening behind him shook him out of his thought. A woman exuding good genes inched past him, almost knocking over a sample tube over his papers. A "Sorry Mr Luthor" was thrown at his general direction and that was the extent of it. She slapped a printout in front of Lilian and all but demanded the good doctor to check it over. The separation wasn't going well and they would need to redo the whole catalyst calculation.

"J'en étais sûr," Lilian replied with a sigh. "I was calculating it when Clark kidnapped me from my lab. I think..." Lilian looked up and spotted Lex. "I think 'ee should do the calculations for me as punishment, _non_?"

What was he supposed to say? Was that a rhetorical question? Was it an acquiesce-expectant question, or something that needed to be mildly debated? Which side should he take? Defend Clark or plot with them against Clark? This was like being under the Kent-microscope all over again; exposing him to the reality of his inadequate experience of answering non-volatile parental questions. What sort of answers do well-meaninged parents expect when they ask questions like these?

Lilian answered his own question by picking up the phone on the wall. Two short stabs and a quick hello, so he must be calling the penthouse. Lex glanced at his watch, its little steel hands barely visible under his triple latex gloved wrist. It was way past lunch time, which pleased Lex. When was the last time he could indulge a solid half-day in uninterrupted scientific pursuits? But it made him curious as to why Clark was expected to be in his penthouse on a workday afternoon. What does this world's Clark do for a living? He doubted Clark of any worlds could settle down as a live-in lover. He had too much calories to burn and energy to spend.

He busied himself with circling the peaks of his chromatograms, annotating his equations, then acting surprised when Lilian came to stand across of him. "Ze boy's at work," Lilian said, one eye on the woman typing on his computer. "I think you should go and take 'eem out for a late lunch."

The hint, combined with Lilian's focus on the woman, was unmistakable. Lex tried very hard not to accuse Lilian as a dog. He had no problem calling Lionel every sort of name under the sun, but he was still trying to wrap his mind around _this_ man.

"Tell Clark to check 'eez email for ze spreadsheets," Lilian said, as he hooked one gloved arm under Lex's elbow. One free hand pushed a purple release button and the door hissed open. "'ee can call me or Pamela if zere's any problems."

It was a wonder that he didn't break his own neck or suffer from severe whiplash. He turned around so quickly that he almost yanked Lilian to the ground with him. "Pamela? Pamela Jenkins?"

The woman at the computer lifted her head, her frantic typing stopped mid-sentence. "Yes, Mr Luthor?" She looked at him expectantly, every bit of patience on her face. Lex was only now realizing how much of his childhood and youth he had forgotten. It was the only reason why he didn't recognize Pamela immediately. Now he was sure; she even had the same haircut as she did when Lex's mother was alive. The same crooked smile, the same anticipation in her eyes, and possibly the same duties—as Lilian's closest confidante, only perhaps not quite the same. "Do you need something else?"

That question broke his stupor and Lex watched two worried looks being directed at him. Now he noticed the lines around her mouth, the gray in her hair, the stoop of her age-worn shoulders. Good genes, definitely. Not so young then, Lex thought. Not so unknown, either.

Lex shook his head, as much to state the negative as to shake cobwebs off his mind. "I thought I did," he croaked. "But I have everything I need."

A jolly clap on his shoulders. " _Bien_!" A paternal push, and Lex found himself scrubbing out of the labs dutifully. His clothing had disappeared magically between the first bank of showers and the second, but there was a set of fresh clothing waiting for him in the clean room. He thought he heard Lilian's concerned remarks about Lex's well-being filtering through the air vents, but he dismissed it as voices in his head.

Freshly scrubbed, managing not to drown in the chemical shower or be flushed down the toilet, Lex waited patiently for the elevator. He looked around trying to spot invisible employees, debating whether this reality's Lex had ninjas in his employ or just very efficient mechanical disposal systems.

The elevator opened. He stepped in and found that the lobby had already been chosen for him. He stared at the lighted button a while, didn't even register the pressure building in his ears due to the rapid, uninterrupted ascent. He hadn't realized how far down they were, didn't even realize it was an engineering possibility.

The door opened and the lobby was sufficiently quiet at this time of day, illuminated by the late afternoon sun slanting through invisible glass walls. He stepped out and found a car door already opened for him. He couldn't remember asking for it. He thanked the doorman—or at least someone he thought was dressed like his doorman—and watched his car door swing shut.

"Where to, Mr Luthor?" was a question, and he truly did not recognize this driver though his black-and-gilt nametag declared him as Sloane. He also didn't know what Clark's job was or where he worked. If he was a betting man, he would bet on Journalist and Daily Planet for both questions. He settled for "I'm meeting Clark."

The driver looked at him like he was a Lovecraftian creature. "He's just across the street," the driver remarked, staring at him expectantly. Expecting what? "I'll call him," Sloane capitulated finally. Lex watched as Sloane slide out of his seat. The door to the other side of Lex opened unceremoniously, and he could see the Daily Planet's main entrance framed perfectly in the negative space it made.

He saw Clark talking to someone behind the Planet's revolving door, lifting his head just in time to see Sloane waving at him. Clark ducked his head and Lex watched Clark execute a clumsy getaway. He was still smiling when Clark slid next to him, door closing behind him, and car starting underneath them.

"So, Lilian called. Told me to feed you," Clark grinned at him. "Good day at the lab?"

It was just a small fleeting touch of lips, but Lex felt like it was the bridge all over again. He wondered if he could orchestrate a car-crash here, in the middle of a Metropolis as familiar as it was foreign to him.


	4. Chapter 4

The skyline might look the same from above, yet things were not necessarily as he remembered them now that he's on ground level. A bakery where a bank would be, a carwash and detailing parlor where his favorite Italian would be. Lex watched a blue late-model Ferrari reverse into the wash, watched the view disappear around the corner where a tobacconist would be but a florist occupied it instead.

Though the view was different, the lines of the roads and the turns were familiar. Three corners later, he was fairly certain where they were heading. Another corner and he would bet his entire holdings on their destination. He must've looked eager because Clark was looking at him fondly. It disconcerted him. Clark had never looked at him like this for a long time. Perhaps in the occasional dreams, though not recently.

As they turned another corner—and then three more corners, one more traffic light, Lex was willing to wager—he thought bitterly about how some people had it all to gain. Sure, the Lex of this timeline seemed to be a pushover, his employees seemed to have the license to take free potshots at his person.

Then there's Leona Luthor. He thought that Lionel Luthor was bad; but full of energy and menopausal ire, the female version should prove to be more unbearable in the long run. And she didn't seem to be heading to the grave anytime soon, unlike his own dearly departed dad. No wonder the Lex of this timeline was such a wet noodle. Old Lady Luthor must've gelded him upon reaching puberty.

But the Lex here had a Lilian, still very much alive with a sharp mind unclouded by depression and paranoia. More importantly the Lex here had Clark.

He didn't know what to make of it.

One more turn and they arrived at the doorstep of a familiar eatery, a favorite of his since his student days. A family establishment he hadn't manage to introduce to his own Clark. He was chagrined to learn that it existed here also. He wondered what this place stood for his counterpart. In his own Metropolis, the eatery was his refuge. Contrary to popular belief, his oasis of calm wasn't his penthouse, definitely not the mansion. Neither his office nor his swimming pool nor the fencing salon. Nor his many villas, and never his clubs now. It was just food. Good honest food to calm his soul.

He refused to blame this sentiment on any Kent. It would be unconscionable to give them that much credit.

A click and the door slid open, punctuated by a growl that could only come out from a farm-grown stomach. Big warm fingers wrapped around his forearm, tugging him out of the limo's warm interior and into the cold fall air. He stumbled, surprised by the force behind the urging, and fell straight across the narrow sidewalk directly inside.

The smell was familiar. Red gingham tablecloths felt like home.

****

The waitstaff was unfamiliar, the maitre d’ was equally unknown to him. Neither cowering nor professionally cold, they fit the running theme of this world—friendly, sometimes discomfortingly so. Clark looked very much at home here, Lex noted, his bright red tie did not clash with the tablecloth as much as he thought it would. 

Clark quizzed Lex on his experiments between pretzels and buttered bread. It set him on edge at first, his mind conjuring accusations beneath every single question. The question of "did you blow up anything?" got Lex snapping, and the question of "Who turned into a radioactive squid this time?" almost made the wine jug fly across the room.

Until now, he hadn't realized how bad his knee-jerk reaction was to such questions coming out of that mouth, uttered with that voice. Never mind those lighthearted inflections that accompanied Clark’s words. He'd like to think that it was a defense mechanism, but they sounded whiny and hollow even to his ears. This was what Superman had reduced him to. The inability to argue something logically, instead letting knowledge go to bed with his reptilian brain and going for the kill.

It was as if a switch had been turned. Late afternoon sun gave way to thick clouds marching past the front shop-window, Clark's gestures became stilted and his many aborted attempts at another conversation were starting to make him look like a landed fish.

Lex doubted that the Clark of this world had to contend with so much hostility from a Lex Luthor. While Luthor and Superman traded kryptonite-laced barbs even before coffee in the morning and after brandy at night, he doubted the same thing happened here.

But maybe they had. For somewhere along the line Lex had become a Clarkian scholar, prodigiously able to read between the lines. Whatever it was, he thought those lessons might apply here too. So, he was probably not quite as surprised as he should when he saw the kind of raw hurt and confusion that passed this Clark's demeanor. It hadn't been all roses and sunshine in the land of metropolis-farmboy and wet-noodle billionaire, after all. Maybe they had come to the sort of mutual agreement, some burying of several hatchets that he never could with his own.

God forbid that he had to ruin this time line by exhuming old hurts. Destruction everywhere he went. That was another of his expertise.

Lex saw someone emerging from the kitchen door toward the back of the restaurant, and he waited for food to save them all. Later he could probably try and apologize, place the blame on lack of food and glucose crash for his short-temper.

But the waitress approached their table empty-handed. She headed straight to Clark with a harried look on her face.  
Clark had probably seen enough of those looks, and Lex could imagine that it never translated well. He watched Clark stiffen, hands clenching and unclenching around his wine glass that was still miraculously intact.

"Mr. Kent," she said even when she's still five paces away from their table. The restaurant's main dining area was empty enough that her voice carried well. "There's General Lane on the house ph..."

The scrape of chair against marble drew a wince out of everyone. Lex barely caught Clark's "I knew it!" and almost didn't notice the we'll-talk-later look aimed directly at him. A gust of wind took Clark away in a blink of an eye, but Lex was more interested in the waitress's complete nonchalance. Like this had happened a million time. And they accused _him_ of Houdini acts.

"Do you still want to eat in, or shall I box up both your meals to go?" she asked, after the proverbial dust had cleared.

****

The driver took many boxes of food from the hands of a concerned maitre d’ and placed them somewhere inside the limo with practiced urgency. Lex didn't even get a chance to arrange himself properly in his seat before it sped away. Considering that he had enough indignities happening through the day, he stubbornly kept quiet. He promised himself that he would give the Lex of this place a good talking-to about all and sundry taking liberties.

In the end, he had no choice but to trust these people. The decisive way each corner was taken and each traffic light narrowly missed told him that the driver knew where to go even as Lex didn’t. It wasn't the most comfortable feeling in the world. He used to want to trust people, many eons ago. Now he just wanted to...

Well, he didn't know what exactly, but he'll figure it out.

****

They pulled to a stop just outside a ring of people pressing themselves against hornet-colored barricades. It parked next to an official-looking black car with it's driver's door ajar and an official-looking person leaning against the steering wheel talking into his wrist.

The man saw them, slid out and hurried towards them. Much sooner than he had anticipated, Lex felt the sudden chill as his door whooshed open.

"Mr Luthor," the man greeted, eyes behind shades, white faced, white wrinkled shirt, tie with a half-windsor knot and little white golf balls on a sea of green polyester. "This way please."

Lex eyed the man warily. If they're going to shoot and hide the body...

"Mr Kent told us that you'll look at the programming of that thing," a jerk of the head, a subtle point towards the sky. _Look, look up to the sky!_ The finger said without actually explaining anything. "Ms Graves and Ms Taya will be along shortly. They're checking the perimeters with our people."

Lex was rooted on his seat. He tilted his head up to the sky, found nothing but blue with fluffy white, a few power lines criss-crossing his line of vision. What was it that he was supposed to be looking at? Lex jogged his memory, tried to think of his own experiments that might have a twin here. He was aware of the officer hovering impatiently by his door, the driver’s half-twisted body angled towards him, all eyes on him expectantly. 

Outside of the shell of his car, a growing buzz. The sky refused to reveal its secrets. A slight nudge at his elbow. “General Lane’s waiting for you, Sir.”


End file.
